


Small Steps

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tf_prime gift exchange 2013, for Tainry.</p><p>Prompt: Cliffjumper/Arcee, "Drinking Games."</p><p>When Optimus and Ratchet go out for the night, drinking games ensue. But neither Arcee or Cliffjumper are exactly in the mood.</p><p>*Content/warnings:* Mild angst, fluff, mild smut (no actual sex), mention of canon death (Tailgate).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Steps

The groundbridge swirled invitingly. But the optics of all the robots in the recreation room were upon the Autobot leader and the medic beside him. “Ratchet and I are going out for a while,” Optimus Prime said – and Ratchet nodded curtly. “And I’m leaving _all_ of you in charge.”   
  
There were murmurings, and Arcee raised an optic ridge. From Bumblebee came excited noises, and he moved forward eagerly.  
  
“I’m sorry Bumblebee,” Optimus Prime said firmly. “But Ratchet I have – private matters to discuss.” He gave the young scout a _look,_ ignoring the fact that Ratchet now looked somewhat awkward.  
  
“Oh …!” Bumblebee understood. He rejoined the others, watching with them as Optimus and Ratchet headed into the bridge.  
  
No sooner had the bridge closed than amused noises came from the assembled robots. “Yeah I’m sure there’s some _very_ serious discussion gonna go on there!” Cliffjumper chuckled. “Oh well – amount of noise they made last time, I guess it’s just as well they ain’t gonna be here. It was kinda – distracting.”  
  
“Yeah!” Bulkhead was laughing too, ignoring the reproachful stare that Arcee gave both of them. Clapping his hands, he rubbed them together. “What say you all we make the most of it? No Decepticon activity, no human duties, no patrols and …” they all looked at him expectantly ….  
  
“I got a carton of high grade stashed in my quarters.”  
  
“Hey-hey! All right!” Cliffjumper applauded. Bee did too, and made noises equally as enthusiastic as the one he had earlier.   
  
“Let’s get the party started, eh?” Bulkhead laughed. “What say we amuse ourselves a bit as we’re drinking? Bit of lobbing, bit of yarn-telling – oh and y’know that stash of discs I got? There’s some other entertainment up my arm compartments too!”  
  
The others responded enthusiastically once more. But Arcee rolled her optics. “I guess I’ll be leaving you guys to it …”  
  
Shaking her head, she left the room and made her way to the control room. Somebody had to stay sober – and she knew who that somebody would be.  
  
…………  
  
Directing her focus away from her colleagues, Arcee busied herself, preparing the monitor screens. She was quite pleased of this time alone. Somebody had to catalogue the recent footage. Ratchet fussed and nitpicked so much. It was the reason things had gotten so behind.   
  
Then, Arcee thought, she would get into tidying the archives. Somebody ought to do that too. The things were a mess – for the same reason.   
  
The Autobots would need every bit of organization they could get if the Decepticons started their antics again. It was going to be a long night.  
  
“You’re not havin’ a drink?”  
  
Arcee looked up. She had not heard him come in.  
  
She shook her head. “No Cliffjumper, I’m not havin’ a drink.”  
  
“Shame.” The handsome face below the horned helm wore a teasing smile. “You’re fun when you’ve had a few.”  
  
“I’m useless when I’ve ‘had a few.’ And somebody has to do all this.” She gestured to the screens.  
  
He was close – close enough that she could smell his wax, was aware of the way the red panels moved in synchrony between the well crafted seams. “You could relax tonight,” he said softly. We could do it tomorrow. Together …”  
  
 _Oh Primus, he had no idea how much she wanted to say yes to that. But she couldn’t, could she? Couldn’t because …._  
  
“No.” She said firmly. “Look, Cliffjumper – it ain’t just the backlog. Somebody oughtta be on guard. We don’t know for certain that the threat has gone. How would you feel if Optimus and Ratchet came back to our base in ruins and us all burned out wrecks?”  
  
“Well … you do have a point there.”   
  
Blue optics twinkled with that ever present, youthful exuberance. As always, he fascinated her. Under the frivolity was the look of a true warrior, an ever present ruthlessness poised to be unleashed. Yet he was so very kind, and noble. So very – Autobot.   
  
He had not moved. She raised her head, meeting his gaze. “C’mon Arcee,” he said softly. “You know that ain’t the only reason.”   
  
Arcee burned inside. If only she could just – melt into his arms. There were times when she longed to kiss him – and more. He wanted that – so much. It had been so obvious for so long now.   
  
But it was out of the question. “That is the only reason.” Tearing her gaze away, she moved to the other console. “Look – I don’t mind that you and the guys have your fun, but I’m just not in the mood. Even if somebody didn’t have to do this, I just – wouldn’t be.”  
  
Noises came from the direction of the rec room. “Cliffie? We’re ready to roll!” roared Bulkhead’s voice, accompanied by Bumblebee noises. “You’d better go,” she said.   
  
“I might come back later.”  
  
“You’ll be bored pitless.”  
  
As he left, music started up, the heavy thumping of base rhythm. Bumblebee’s favorite. “Doof doof” music, the humans called it. Cliffjumper liked it too – and my, could he move …  
  
Arcee busied herself again. No, she could never take up with Cliffie, in any way but being a tactical partner.   
  
She was a terrible dancer.  
  
………………  
  
“Cliffie! What kept ya?” Behind Bulkhead, Bee echoed the sentiments, his squeals rising above the rhythmic _thunking._  
  
“Bit o’business to attend to.” Cliffjumper sighed ruefully.  
  
“Ah, you gotta let it go, Cliffie!” Bulkhead shouted. “Don’t do to tie yourself in knots over co-workers. That’s how it was in the wreckers, see? No strings. No regrets.”  
  
Cliffjumper wondered if there ought to be an award for the number of times Bulkhead had said that. He thought of Wheeljack, Bulkhead’s brooding over the other’s absence. It was worthy of argument. But not tonight.  
  
“So – like the set-up?”  
  
Looking across the room, Cliffjumper saw that a barrel had been placed in the middle of the floor. The rim was wide enough to accommodate the lob, but not extravagantly so. It was far enough away to make a successful shot ‘challenging’ - but not too far to be impossible.   
  
On a small table were three large glasses. Even from here, Cliffjumper could smell the high grade fumes.   
  
He knew the rules. Chuck. If you miss the barrel, you down a glass. Then you pass the lob on. The barrel gets moved back after each ‘round.’ First to get six successful lobs wins - unless of course everyone misses so much to begin with that it _just ain’t possible_ for anyone to get six in.   
  
Penalty? All those left standing have to finish the high grade. _Shocking_ punishment.  
  
Bumblebee rocked to the music, absorbed for the moment, simulating the playing of a human guitar. Bulkhead tossed the lob from hand to hand, as though it weighed nothing. “Cliffjumper. You gonna go first?” Aw hell, he could at least try and enjoy himself.  
  
  
“Meee!” Bee broke from his musical appreciation. Sometimes he was easy to understand.  
  
“Kid you’re on!” Bulkhead tossed Bumblebee the lob and stood back grinning as the scout assumed a hurler’s pose, his concentration evident. “Hey, fancy stuff. _This_ early in the proceedings.”   
  
The music thumped in the background. “Iacon Academy education,” Cliffjumper observed. “’cept the circumstances weren’t _quite_ like this!”  
  
Bumblebee bent at the knees, the hands holding the lob above his head, elbows bent as he balanced carefully. Bulkhead chuckled. "You wouldn’t see a construction mech look like that to save his plating.”  
  
“Sshhh …” Cliffjumper whispered, amused but aware of the sensitivities, at times, of the young scout. “Don’t make me have to disqualify you for giving him an unfair disadvantage.”  
  
The lob went wide, crashing into the wall with a loud clang. “He-heh!” Bulkhead roared. “Iacon Academy for the fail. C’mon Bee…” he motioned to the glass table. “Get one into ya!”   
  
Bee did not seem sad about that at all. He downed the high grade in one go, the sparkly pink liquid dribbling on to his chest. _Nice!_ He enthused, bopping his hips again in time with the rhythm.  
  
It occurred to Cliffjumper that he maybe should watch Bee - just a little. Last time the scout had ‘had a few’ they had ended up carrying him away from dozens of gaping humans - after the high speed chase.  
  
Cliffjumper recalled Agent Fowler’s furious lecture; mainly how excruciating it was, having to explain giant robot antics to human cops at three o’clock in the morning, on a weeknight.  
  
“Your turn!” Cliffjumper found the lob in his hands. He wasted no time. A well-aimed shot, and it was in perfectly. “Nice one,” Bulkhead applauded along with a giggling Bee. “But you miss out eh? Here - have one anyway …” grabbing the second glass, he shoved the slopping vessel in Cliffjumper’s direction.  
  
“Naa – I know the rules,” Cliffjumper waved it away. “Besides – I just wanna relish being an ace shot before it gets too hard.” He grinned, handing the lob to Bulkhead. “Your turn.”  
  
Secretly, he hoped there’d be a few more ‘ace shots.’ Because trying though he might be, the red Autobot still felt a lot less like getting hopelessly drunk and a lot more like going right back into that control room …  
  
But no. Arcee had made her feelings clear.  
  
……………  
  
They were loud. Exceedingly loud. The music thumped on, punctuated by other noises, clangs, clinkings, and once, the sound of a glass breaking. Laughter resounded. The number of swear words Arcee could decipher probably meant that Bulkhead and Bumblebee were getting very drunk.   
  
That really wasn’t good so far as Bumblebee was concerned. Arcee toyed briefly with the idea of ‘intervening.’ But hell - no! She wasn’t the scout’s keeper. Anyway, Cliff was in there. And Arcee could not help but note that he sounded a good deal more sober – when she could hear him at all.  
  
Not that she cared about that, beyond his propensity to look after Bumblebee. Or if he was coming back, as he had said he would. In fact, she did not have time to even consider that. There was a job to do here.   
  
She kept on going with the tedious archive files, her optic ridges furrowed in concentration, excluding everything but the screens and the seemingly never ending stream of Autobot data files from her conscious awareness pool.  
  
………………….  
  
  
The lobbing game had come to an end. It had been fun, but - by their standards - short.  
  
Bumblebee had failed to land a single shot. The scout was now sprawled in a chair, a silly grin covering his face. Despite his ‘state,’ he pointed at the glasses, and made a noise indicative of the fact that another would not be unwelcome at all.  
  
Bulkhead laughed. “I think we should slow down a little, Bee!” he said. “Get our strength back. We still got a long night ahead of us.” He, of course had landed every shot, being something of a champion in his day. He’d used ‘convener’s rules’ however to claim that this did not deprive him of the right to a drink for every non-miss either.  
  
Being an ex construction mech, experienced in the art of high grade consumption (and about three times the size of Bumblebee) the effects were somewhat less. “I thought we could tell a few yarns,” he said. “Have a laugh, remember the old times – you know? Then watch movies.”  
  
That evidently pleased Bumblebee, who made appropriate noises. But Cliffjumper sighed inwardly. ‘Old yarns’ meant Bulkhead’s old wrecker stories; the galactic exploits of he and Wheeljack and Seaspray, and others who may or may not still be in existence.   
  
And had the crowd been bigger, himself drunker, then Cliffjumper would have been topping up his glass already. But Cliffjumper had landed most of the lobs and, unlike Bulkhead, not found an excuse to drink. He felt decidedly sober - and the presence in the control room was ever more preoccupying.  
  
As Bulkhead started – some tale about he and Jackie making it through a warp gate ahead of a whole armada of Decepticons – Cliffjumper found his thoughts drifting very much to the control room.  
  
And why not? For the femme in there was _amazing_. Cliffjumper allowed Bulkhead’s voice to fade away as he allowed thoughts of Arcee to fully invade his processor.   
  
It was not just that she was darned good looking, and sexy; though Primus knew, she was both of those. But for Cliffjumper, it was more the sheer energy that captivated him. Despite the direness of their situation, Arcee moved through life with a passion, never giving up on the worthwhile things - justice, and a peaceful universe.   
  
Strongly individual, yet principled and devoted to the Cause, she was relentless in that quest. She would stop at nothing until it was accomplished, would thwart any who stood in her path. In her pursuit, her friends were everything. She was loyal even to bitter ends. That, Cliffjumper had seen.  
  
Strength, persistence, conviction; all the qualities he truly admired - she had them. Never had he come across such a perfect embodiment of his ideals. More than anything, he wanted to be by her side.   
  
She could also _fight_ amazingly, he thought as a smile spread over his face. Oh mech – those moves. They sometimes put even he, Cliffjumper, to shame. No – she was absolutely, totally everything he had ever wanted in a partner – and a lover. Hardly a moment went by without his spark aching at the thought.   
  
“…so yeah – we were pretty much lookin’ down the tunnel of oblivion. But it was then that Jackie remembered the warp drive boost ….” Bulkhead paused in his recantation. He poured another drink. Cliffjumper tried to smile, despite the suspicious looks from the other Autobot. Bee made encouraging noises. Bulkhead settled back, returning to the tale, and Cliffjumper went back to his thoughts.  
  
He had caught her looking at him, sometimes. Like earlier. But then a _look_ would come over her, and he knew she thought of Tailgate. He did not know all that went on in her head about Tailgate. He knew that she hurt dreadfully over his terrible end, and that they had been – close. He also knew she felt she had failed him somehow – though Primus, it was well nigh impossible to see why.   
  
She was also afraid - or at least, so Cliffjumper suspected - of the implications. Afraid that _it would happen again._  
  
Inwardly, he sighed. He would never replace Tailgate. It wasn’t just that she would never have the same place in Arcee’s spark. He could never get close to the history they’d shared – or the dash and flare and skill of the dead mech. He, Cliffjumper could never be to her what Tailgate was. But tonight, when they were done, Cliffjumper was gonna say it – was gonna tell her that no matter how, he would always be there for her.  
  
Yes - that was the one thing he could do; after all, he wasn’t going anywhere, was he?   
  
Yet, a strange feeling of unease went through his circuits. There was a curious urgency tonight - as though there were things to do, and he _didn’t_ have much time to do them. And he _had_ to do them – before it was too late.  
  
Crazy. Obviously. None of them were getting off this planet. It wasn’t as though there was even anywhere to go - or other robots for him to suddenly fall for - even had that been in his wildest dreams.  
  
No, being here for her Cliffjumper could do. He would say it. Primus only knew how, but he would find a way. Perhaps just one more drink ….  
  
“So the moral to this story is – get a partner who’s a technical genius …”  
  
“Cliffjumper?” Bumblebee seemed wide awake again. Gesticulations came from the chair. “Wasn’t that the best story you ever heard?”   
  
“Oh yeah,” Cliffjumper said, smiling quickly as he topped up his glass, and avoiding Bulkhead’s knowing look. “It was – yeah. Fascinating. How about another? How about the power lines incident?”  
  
…….  
  
Arcee was not sure how much time had passed. She pushed herself back from the console, feeling the need for a break. The music was gone. She could hear only Bulkhead’s voice, no longer a raucous shouting and more of a drone.   
  
Arcee pushed herself back from the console. There was, of course, still no sign of Decepticon activity, and she was pleased with what she’d managed to do. All the recent footage was in order, and the archives in much better shape. Even Ratchet ought to be impressed.   
  
She was tired, now. Tired and alone. He had said he’d come back. But he hadn’t …  
  
Bulkhead’s voice resonated, muffled through the walls. He said something about power lines. Cliffjumper’s laughter rang out, captivating, infectious; just like so much of Cliffjumper. _At least he’s still there…_  
  
That he was. And as usual, he was managing to have fun. That story of Bulkhead’s was so ‘old hat’ now that it failed for Arcee even to raise a titter. But even when they’d been captured by Starscream and hauled before Shockwave, Cliffjumper had joked about Shockwave being the ‘luckiest drunk’ - never having to worry about double vision. Even Starscream had laughed out loud; although not Shockwave.   
  
He had simply ‘darkened,’ slightly – but hell it was funny. Even in those dire straits, it had cheered her up. Cliffjumper always cheered her up. After the Tailgate horror, he had been a shining beacon, had guided her through a darkness she never thought would end.   
  
And he was not exactly _un-handsome._ She had secretly that thought all along. In fact – he was very desirable. There were times that Arcee’s body cried out for touch and affection, screamed at her that there was more than one way in which Cliffjumper would be good for her…  
  
But no! Primus Arcee was cross with herself for going there again. How many times did she have to remind herself that _nothing was going to happen._  
  
It _could_ not happen - for was that not exactly what had been the cause of Tailgate’s demise? Was not the fact that they had acted not like soldiers, but like bickering lovers been to blame? The fact that she had needed that silly one-upmechship – a continuation of their antics in the berthroom – meaning that they had gone on separate quests, and not acted as the team they should?  
  
And then, Primus knew, if Arcee had kept her cool, stayed detached and pragmatic and not gone into a blind emotional panic, then Tailgate might be still alive now ….  
  
As usual, Arcee clutched at her chest, pain consuming all as her spark burned. That vision she _could not shake_ arose again. Tailgate’s broken body. His pain. His helplessness…  
  
He had been barely conscious. But he had raised his head just before Airachnid took his spark, and there had been not fear on his face, but sadness. For Tailgate had loved life, and he knew, at that final moment, that it was over; that everything he had known and cherished was to be no more.  
  
And he didn’t deserve it. No! Nor did he deserve to have had her screw up the way she had. Any attachment to partners, ever again, was out of the question. She could not risk a similar happening. Nor could she ever deal with another loss like this one.  
  
Besides, she needed to be focused. Rational. Not full of silly romantic thoughts, or the haze of too many overloads. Because that spider was _here_ somewhere, Arcee knew it. And the one thing she could still do for Tailgate was to make the glitch pay. Arcee was _darned_ if anything was gonna get in the way of that.  
  
The music had started in the rec room again; Arcee vaguely remembered it being called ‘chill.’ But she was far from ‘chilled.’ Instead, her every node burned with the powerful lust of revenge. Just a few short few moments of thinking about Tailgate had done it.  
  
She rolled her chair back to the console. In just a few seconds she had retrieved the file she wanted: the footage from the forest that day.  
  
The femme peered close. Yes – there is was, beneath the tall pine trees. Almost obscured by that thicket, but when she’d bushed the scrub aside, it had been clearly visible: a tunnel leading down and out of sight.   
  
It had been disused, obviously, and easily mistaken as the creation of some Earth animal. Were it not for its extreme roundness and one other feature ….  
  
The strands of web they had found about ten feet down, wrapped around the human bones.  
  
……………  
  
A snore came from Bumblebee’s chair. The end result of the scout’s overindulgence had been sudden, but thorough.  
  
“Now lets see …” there was a glugging sound as Bulkhead topped up the glasses. “Did I ever tell you about the time on Voltimus Four that Seaspray an’ I took out an Insecticon nest?”  
  
Ordinarily, Cliffjumper would not have minded hearing it again. But now, he really did have to go. Only a short time more thinking about it, and he had made up his mind. “You did,” he lied, getting up. He probably had, sometime, at another of these sessions.   
  
“I’m gonna - uh - go an’ see how Arcee’s doing,” he said. “She’s been pretty darned good, keeping watch while we had a good time in here.  
  
“That she has,” Bulkhead said. A pensive look came about him. “That she has …”  
  
Cliffjumper was seized momentarily with a sudden desire to tell Bulkhead everything and – as that strange unease of earlier filled him again – even to ask his advice. Bulkhead was wise, sometimes, in the most extraordinary ways. Cliffjumper’s focus had been so much on Arcee, he did not even know how much the ex-wrecker knew of his sentiments – or what he thought of them.  
  
And Bulkhead was looking so crestfallen at his departure. But no - now could not be the time. Cliffjumper yearned to be next door. “Thanks for the game,” he said to Bulkhead. And then he felt obliged to add: “Look – you know you guys mean the world to me …”  
  
“Yeah I know that, Cliff.” Bulkhead was watching him closely, and with a great fondness, as though he understood much. “You should do what you gotta do,” he said. “Sometimes things just need a little shove in a certain direction. Don’t leave it too long.”  
  
  
 _Did he sense it too?_ The gratitude Cliffjumper felt at that moment was almost overwhelming, but his desire to be next door arose stronger than ever. “Thanks …” he merely clapped Bulkhead on the arm.  
  
As he exited, he heard him the ex wrecker out a long, rueful sigh. “Eh, I wish Jackie was here,” he murmured.  
  
………………  
  
Arcee scanned the images. There were things she had not seen previously. A thinning of the trees nearby. Scorch marks on the lower trunks and on the ground. Arcee could make out clearly the trail that led from the side of the hole. Invisible to the untrained optic, it had been all too obvious to her keen optics.  
  
The faintly marked path continued around the outcrop nearby, disappearing at the edge of a rock pile which – now she looked at it again – looked _even more_ as though it had been recently created, and not happened by natural forces alone. Arcee peered closer. She was still certain that the rock pile obscured the mouth of a large cave.  
  
As before, her whole being shimmied with the thrill of what this meant. Airachnid always chose caves.  
  
And even now, Arcee could almost smell the _smell._ Faint, it had been. And old. But unmistakable in its sweet acridity, its utter unpleasantness – and in the memories it induced. At those, Arcee’s revenge-lust rose with all the fury of a starving Scraplet desperate to feed. She was gonna get out there, no matter what it took.   
  
“So that’s what you’ve been up to.” She had not heard Cliffjumper come in. He stood a short way away, faceplates and horns glinting under the neon light. “Still reckon she’s there?”  
  
It took Arcee by surprise. And now, she thought she caught cynicism in his voice – and slight amusement. Well of course. The others had been highly doubtful. “I don’t wanna dampen your enthusiasm, but when y’want something badly, sometimes y’see stuff that ain’t there,” Ratchet had said.   
  
Cliffjumper had seemed more supportive. The fact that he wasn’t now was disappointing. Especially since she’d just been thinking how attractive he was …  
  
“Darned right she’s there.” She was pleased at the sound of her vehemence. If he didn’t agree he should have stayed next door.  
  
He stood staring at the screen. “High grade run out?” She wasn’t sorry that it sounded snappy.  
  
“No – just too many other distractions …”  
  
His optics caught hers. She felt instantly guilty. There was no cynicism in his expression. Only – a sadness? An understanding? A slightly _hurt look_ even? He moved closer to the console, studying the screen. “I must admit, I always did have a problem with Agent Fowler’s explanation for that skeleton. I mean – why would one of their serial killers go all the way out there?”  
  
And now she heard nothing in his voice but sincerity – in fact there was hopefulness, and even enthusiasm. How could she have been angry with him? As usual, he was irrevocably supportive. And he’d said exactly the right thing, at the right time.   
  
“I’m glad you agree with me,” she mumbled, embarrassed.  
  
He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened than Airachnid coming here. I’ve always believed in expecting the unexpected. And in fortunate opportunities. You should do what you gotta do.”  
  
Her spark melted. He was so much like Tailgate in some ways; his confidence, his optimism. But Tailgate would have wanted to go out there and deal with Airachnid himself. He would have said she was too ‘emotionally involved.’ They would have argued. There would have been a ‘scene.’  
  
She would have stormed off on her own …  
  
Whereas Cliffjumper? He believed in her. There was no argument. That kind of thing just wasn’t necessary with him. And - he wanted her…  
  
And he was standing very close. The proximity, the scent of his alloys and wax coupled with the faint aroma of high grade were intoxicating. Now, with this added empathy, she ached for him, her spark drawn to him like a moth to a candle.   
  
If she were to have him now, might it not heal her sorrows? It was not as though that thought had not occurred before.  
  
 _But no! What am I thinking? I went through this earlier, why it could not be. Besides, I have a job to do – and it is for me and me alone._  
  
 _Perhaps he should have stayed in the rec room._  
  
He was hardly making things easy - looking right at her, those piercing blue optics searching, filled with the same desire she felt. “Arcee …”  
  
“Cliffjumper – don’t…” She got up, moving away.  
  
“All right, all right!” his hands went up. “I wasn’t trying to push boundaries – I know how you feel.”   
  
However disappointed me might have felt, he managed to smile. “I was just gonna say…whenever you wanna go hunting, I’m happy to give you a hand. I mean - I don’t, for one moment, think you’re gonna need backup to take care of Airachnid, but help never went astray.”  
  
He was never more appealing. How did he _do_ that? Manage to say just the right things? It left her processor a confused whirl of appreciation and desire. “I’d – like that,” she mumbled.  
  
“Besides,” his face darkened and that warrior side – so attractive and so thrillingly _different_ from Tailgate - was never more apparent. “I got my own reasons for hating the glitch,” he growled. “You don’t get out there and do something soon - _then I will.”_  
  
And suddenly, it was in sight. The end to all this. Closure ….   
  
And a pathway on to other things? She had languished, after the ‘discovery.’ Why had she done that for so long? And why had she not thought of everything – Tailgate, revenge, Cliffjumper – in this way before?   
  
Yes - she had waited far too long. It was high time that it was taken care of. For Tailgate’s sake. For – Cliffjumper’s sake. And yes, of course he could be her backup. Right now.  
  
She gritted her denta. “How drunk is Bulkhead?” she asked.  
  
……….  
  
Cliffjumper doubted – severely doubted – that Airachnid was on Earth. Why would she be? She pretty much had the run of Cybertron now and would be relishing in the gruesome aftermath of war. And whilst that thought was as infuriating to Cliffjumper as it was to Arcee, he put it aside. Airachnid’s time would come.   
  
In the meantime, Arcee needed to satisfy herself here that she had done all she could. And perhaps she could see, now, how much she needed this? Needed to at least exhaust the possibility of revenge for the time being. Then she might move on.   
  
The moment he had seen what she was looking at, the expression on her face, Cliffjumper had seen his chance. Like a light in the darkness, the way to healing her spark - to giving him just a _hope_ of their being an item - had suddenly been obvious. It was a breakthrough, like being trapped in a confined space, with suddenly a way to leap barriers. As Cliffjumper had said, he believed in fortunate opportunities.  
  
And - Primus only knew - Arcee might even be _right._ They might even get the spider. In which case, Cliffjumper was definitely gonna be there. Oh yeah – nothing would give him greater pleasure than to see the end of the vile creature. A pestilence in the universe that had caused nothing but misery and pain - especially for Arcee. And make no mistake, it was still a Decepticon sympathizer.  
  
After, whether they got Airachnid or not, Arcee would need him. Cliffjumper was no expert in psychology, but he had seen others who had yearned for vengeance come crashing down when they got it, empty and wretched. The fact that it had not taken away her loss would be suddenly all too evident…   
  
Or at least, he suspected it might be so. His spark went out to her. He would be there for her. He was sure as hell not gonna pass up any chance of her needing him….  
  
And then, he would tell her how he felt.   
  
As he drew near the rec room, Cliffjumper paused to reflect on _just how many times_ he had thought about telling her; about how although it had been an honor being assigned to work with her, to be fighting beside her side by side on Earth. About how he had longed, ever since he set optics on her, for so much more. About how – despite the Autobot predicament - a great future lay ahead….  
  
Because nothing was gonna happen to him. _Was it?_  
  
Again that feeling. _Why the sense of doom?_ It was definitely just not ‘him.’ Cliffjumper forced it from his processor.  
  
  
“’Course I’ve sobered up, I’m a wrecker,” Bulkhead said. “You call that drinking earlier? Seriously?”  
  
Cliffjumper repeated his request. “I just need to know you can – cope. That’s all.”  
  
Bulkhead looked at him. “Please! But seriously - Prime’s gonna do his block. And you know whose aft’s gonna be right in the firing line. And what am I gonna do if cons show up an’ there’s only me?” He glanced at Bumblebee, so deep in recharge that only the slightest motion to his mostly shut down intakes showed he was online at all.  
  
“They ain’t gonna show,” Cliffjumper said. “Hell – Bulk – how long have we been here? If they were gonna show they’d have done it by now. And even if they did show they’d need to get their pit together wouldn’t they? We’d know about them long before they knew about us. We’d have a pretty big window.”  
  
Bulkhead gave him a long, hard look. “Your arguments ain’t exactly the best ever,” he said. “But I’ll do it.” He sighed, “I know how it is. I know _what_ it is to - want someone.”   
  
Picking up the bottle, he looked at it ruefully. “That’s it for tonight I guess. Always said I was gonna quit sometime.” He looked sternly at the red Autobot. “Just keep your comms on the _whole_ time. All right?”  
  
Cliffjumper decide that whatever the outcome of this he was going to have a long, hard talk with Bulkhead. About all sorts of things. He gave him the green mech a slap on the shoulder. “I owe you one,” he said. “You keep yours on too. We’ll need the ground bridge when we wanna come back.”  
  
………….  
  
An eerie stillness filled the forest, the moonlight shafting intermittently between the trees as clouds passed overhead. Arcee was conscious of Cliffjumper in the background, watching intensely but unobtrusively as she went over the scene yet again.  
  
There was no signature for the spider. But Arcee refused to give up. Not after the furious excitement she had felt. Not after the terrible fear that had almost paralyzed her when they’d first arrived, the way she had overcome that, how with words of encouragement from Cliffjumper she had steeled herself and prepared to do battle…   
  
The chance to get even! For Tailgate. And she would make it up to Cliffjumper. Maybe even in the way that he wanted …  
  
“I gotta make one thing clear,” she’d said. “She’s mine.” And she knew he had sensed her excitement, her need. He had backed off. He understood. But he was there, just in case – and that was all right because hell, would not Tailgate still be alive if they had only stuck together?  
  
But now Arcee looked into the hole again, she saw that it was much more overgrown. Of Airachnid, there was no trace. Arcee was using infra red visual of course, and other sensory means, and tried to tell herself that well maybe she should have come here in daylight after all. But really - she knew - that would have made little difference.  
  
The other ‘signs’ seemed doubtful, now, too. The ‘track’ could easily have been made by forest animals. The blackness on the trees had turned out to be fungi, not fire. The boulders were oddly placed, to be sure, but their presence there from Earth movements was by no means out of the question, and - in fact - the hole could be explained in the same way.  
  
Arcee fought back bitter disappointment as she was forced to concede that the others could be right - Arachnid may never have been here at all. The bones, of course, were long gone – and there’d been a human explanation for them. She could still detect structures in the hole - but knew that although Earth spiders were small, many of them together could spin large webs very similar to Airachnid’s.   
  
And the smell – had she simply imagined that? The only scent in her olfactories now was the sweet one of pine needles, mingled with the promise of approaching rain as a light breeze ghosted against her panels.  
  
But she refused to give in. “She was here!” she cried. “I know it Cliffjumper. I could sense it. She can’t still be on Cybertron. There’s nothing there. It would make sense for her to be here. And I will find her. I will. I will …”  
  
Like an anchor in the night, he was beside her. “Arcee …” he said softly.  
  
“Its all I have left,” she wailed. “I owe him this, at least. I owe it after what I did.”   
  
A tower of silent strength, he said nothing. He simply put his arms around her, and she at last allowed herself to lean into him and absorb her grief.  
  
…………  
  
He held her, her grief so strong, to tangible that it was his in a sense. But his spark burned also with a deep satisfaction, of being needed, of being whole. The completion of a project, a mission accomplished. It was like coming home. “I know it’s been hard,” he murmured. “I’m sorry Arcee.”  
  
She cried for only a short time. Then she leaned in, warm against him; so strong still, as always. Yet so vulnerable. “I miss him,” she murmured. “If I’d have found her – he wouldn’t have died for nothing. This way his life, our time, it would have been – meaningful.”  
  
Cliffjumper waited for a moment. He chose his words carefully. “Tailgate will always be special,” He pushed her away a little so that he could look at her, and stroked her face. “He’s gone, Arcee,” he whispered. “You can’t do nothin’ about that. You can kill Airachnid – but it won’t bring him back. There ain’t nothin’ you can ever do to bring Tailgate back. That’s – how it is.”  
  
There was a long moment while they stood together and the forest sighed around them. She tensed against him again and he felt the full depth of her agony, the despair in her spark. So much healing would be needed. This was only the barest beginning.   
  
“I know,” she said at last. Cliffjumper nuzzled her helm. “But I’m – here,” he whispered. “And I know I can’t ever replace him, much less be him. But I can be here with you. And when you do get the chance to get Airachnid – cos you will – I’m gonna be right there cheering you on.”  
  
Despite her sorrow, he felt her mood lighten, slightly – just as the first drops of rain fell between the trees and started to ting from their armour. “The thing is, I know he wouldna wanted me to – be without,” she said. “An’ I know he wouldna wanted me to go blaming myself either. It’s just that – hell I dunno Cliffjumper. I just don’t know.”  
  
 _What if it happens again?_ She didn’t say it, but as the rain fell, that darkness crept over him again. And whereas he could have reassured her further, told her that was nonsense, he simply continued to hold her close. The truth was, now he was finally here like this with her, he didn’t _know_ either.  
  
“Maybe we can just – give things a try?” he ventured.  
  
“Yes,” she murmured. “I think we can do that.”  
  
Drawing her to him, he held her tightly amid the sweet scents of the forest, the comforting moist Earth environment. All in all, it was as good as he could have hoped.   
  
A small step in the right direction. Whatever the future may hold, he would enjoy this for now.  
  
…………………  
  
*cries*  
  
This is why I want to write a fic where CJ survives!


End file.
